


The Stims 4: Deacon and Nora Woohoo

by masseylass



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Masturbation, Moaning, Shameless Smut, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:21:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26555782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masseylass/pseuds/masseylass
Summary: Pure smut. Not really much backstory. Two chapters, the first revolving around Nora catching Deacon in a compromising position, the second revolving around actual sex. It's all shameless and it's not very well-written but it was fun writing it. Chapter 2 coming soon.
Relationships: Deacon/Female Sole Survivor
Comments: 14
Kudos: 35





	1. Nora's a Creep and Deacon's a Weirdo, What the Hell are they Doing Here?

Another beautiful day in the Commonwealth: mutated birds singing, Diamond City Radio playing, and the gentle pitter patter of gunfire against the asphalt. 

Nora and her traveling companion ducked behind the bar of a run-down diner. One of them would have to poke their heads out and take a look around sooner or later. Deacon grabbed the first thing he could use as a shield – a toaster – and cautiously raised his head above the bar. _Ping!_

“Hngh!” Deacon groaned and slid onto his ass with his back pressed hard against the bar. He held his fingers up to his head. While the toaster miraculously blocked the bullet, it also shattered against his face leaving a gnarly gash and bruise.

“Deacon?!” gasped Nora.

“Headshot…receiving end…” 

Nora raised one of her meticulously drawn-on brows and smirked. Headshots were what killed people, though he was technically right; it _was_ a shot to his head, kind of. Though he may have been a drama queen at times, someone had just shot her sweet-Deeks, and now she was pissed. “Stay there,” she commanded, and with the same, fiery smirk, Nora leapt from behind the bar. Bullets stung the ground at her heels as she ran for closer cover.

The raider lost sight of her. “I’ll find you!” he threatened, but Nora found him first. The last thing the angry bum saw before his brain exploded like fireworks was a sunny-haired, 50’s housewife-turned-badass in a tight vault suit, breasts and ass begging her suit to be set free. She looked like the kind of gal who loved three things: God, her country, and setting spray judging by the way her cherry red lips and winged liner never seemed to smear regardless of the sweat she’d accumulated from toting around a military grade EM weapon. Gore splattered across the front of her suit, a half-smile hanging on her heart-shaped face all the while.

“Ew,” replied Deacon upon Nora’s triumphant return. A little bit of brain clung to her boot. She scraped the underside against the pavement to get it off. Gnarled clumps of hippocampus and what looked like half an eyeball smeared onto the ground like butter on toast. “I don’t have a weak stomach, but damn,” he added for good measure.

The vault dweller glanced up, placing a gentle hand on the Railroad agent’s shoulder. “Are you alright?” she asked, caressing the edge of his clavicle with her thumb.

“Yyyeahhh,” he answered, breath hitching as he brought his fingers to his temple. The bruise was already setting. “Just gonna need a minute.”

Nora peeled her hand back and gestured to an adjacent building. It was tall and green like most of the others in the area; trés _Boston, 2287._ “Look over there. Looks like some kind of clinic. Bet we can find a stim or two inside.”

“Well, considering these damned raiders decided to help themselves to ours...” drawled Deacon, referring to the start of all this, getting jumped just outside the Commons. Now half their supplies were gone, stims, rad-x, and radaway included.

“Well alright then! Let’s restock, shall we?” 

The two entered the building and did a quick sweep of the first floor. Aside from a couple of radroaches, the place was raider-free, mutant-free, and drama free. It was a nice change of pace.

“Why don’t you sit down?” offered Nora, pulling the wheely chair away from the front desk. “Go ahead and relax, I can find the supplies.”

“And they say chivalry is dead,” teased Deacon, plopping into the seat with a grunt. He’d taken quite the blow to the head with that toaster. “Thanks, Charmer. Just holler through the walky if you need me. I’m just gonna sit here for a minute and commiserate with myself.”

“You mean wallow?”

 _“Wallow…_ sounds so whiny.”

“It is,” she teased, settling her hand over her walky-talkie to make sure it was still attached to her belt after the hubbub of the firefight. “I still can’t believe we found these.”

“I know!” agreed Deacon. “Hubris Comics is the best, amirite? Who knew we’d end up with a couple of Grognak the Barbarian walky-talkies. What _will_ that wacky barbarian do next?”

And with a funny little eyeroll and titter, Nora was off. Further into the facility she found more roaches, foul stenches, and the other usual garbage. She had to climb on top of shelves and pull herself through a hole in the ceiling considering all the other hallways were blocked off with post-nuclear rubble. She went through drawers and cupboards, filing cabinets and desks, but so far, nothing. 

Nora gave an exasperated sigh. She wasn’t about to give up; this was a medical facility, there had to be at least one stimpak floating around somewhere. She looked around the room deep in thought. The answer came from above in the form of yet another hole in the ceiling. “The good stuff is _always_ on the top floor…” she complained.

She grunted and hoisted herself onto next floor, caked in dust. There was a hole in the wall, one that opened up a line of site into the lobby below. She crawled over to the hole and peered onto the ground floor. There was Deacon sitting in his chair. Good, still in one piece. 

She was about to continue onward when Deacon started spinning in his chair. Nora cracked a smile and stifled a laugh. He was clearly bored, spinning and spinning as his fingers tapped against his jeans. This went on for ten, twenty, maybe thirty seconds before he seemed to get dizzy (or bored) enough to stop.

He leaned back and took off his sunglasses, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index fingers. Nora frowned, feeling a pang of sympathy in her belly. He was in pain. Time to stop dawdling and go find those stims. 

Nora rummaged through more drawers and cabinets until something out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. A med kit, finally! The damned thing just _had_ to be locked, so she took the butt of her gun and smashed it over and over until chunks of white exploded onto the ground. All that fell out was a bottle of buffout. “Ugh.” She packed it away and moved on to the next room.

 _Finally_ she found a cabinet with a stash of chems: rad-x, med-x, even a few stimpaks. She pocketed them and turned heel, heading back the way she came.

On her way back toward the hole to the second floor she couldn’t help but look down into the lobby at Deacon again, half-wondering if he’d resumed spinning or was doing something just as hilarious. _What will that wacky Deacon do next?_ He was doing _something,_ though she couldn’t make out exactly what it was. So she took her rifle and looked through the scope. She adjusted it until the focus became crystal clear, revealing that Deacon was…

Shaking? 

She readjusted the scope to make sure what she was seeing was real. And oh, it was. Her jaw dropped. There was Deacon in all his glory, pants undone, cock in his hand, stroking it generously.

“Oh my god!” she gasped and looked away. _How will I ever unsee this?_ she thought as she immediately looked back through the scope. Deacon’s thumb teased his cockhead before arduously gliding down the rest of his shaft. Nora was mesmerized. Deacon had always been reserved and seldom shared anything real about himself. Seeing his naked erection and getting to know how he liked touching himself was obviously the most personal thing she knew about him, now. 

Deacon was all about sneaky, subterfuge stuff unlike Nora. Nora was blunt, bold, in-your-face. She carried around a gauss rifle and screamed at her enemies, wore bright, red lipstick and bleached her hair. Deacon though? Deacon was the exact opposite. He wore clothing that made him blend in with whatever environment he was infiltrating, and his combat style was just as subdued. So would the saboteur be impressed that she was spying on him, or would he be thoroughly creeped out?

Deacon's lips parted and Nora could only assume he moaned. She wondered what he sounded like. Did he sigh softly, or was he loud and eager and unapologetic with his noises of pleasure? She couldn’t look away, even if her stomach felt like it was about to fall right out of her butt. Deacon parted his legs, jeans clinging tightly to his muscled calves. _That’s one way of relieving pain,_ she thought, zooming in with her scope. He was so hard in his hand, back arching slightly as he picked up the pace. 

Nora inadvertently clenched her thighs together and sighed. She hadn't realized it until that point but my god, he was handsome. He may not have been forthcoming about his past, at least his true past, but he was her best friend; as such, Nora never had any desire to risk pushing her luck. Well, until now. There was no respect in this. No honor. It was filthy, and she knew damn well it was as she held her rifle with one hand and unbuttoned her pants with the other.

She slipped her hand down the front of her underwear. Though she had only been watching Deacon masturbate for a minute or so, she was already slick and needy. She traced her clit with her thumb, sighing as she watched Deacon fondle his balls before gliding his palm up his shaft, rolling his fist over his head.

Her breath hitched as the vault-dweller penetrated herself with her own two fingers. She curled them in a beckoning motion and shivered as she watched Deacon let out what she could only assume was another sigh of pleasure. _I'm going to hell,_ she thought, and continued to finger herself greedily. She parted her fingers, spreading herself with a whimper before she extended their reach, exploring every last inch of herself she could fill. 

It’d been weeks since she'd touched herself properly. This wasn't exactly what she had in mind, jacking off to a man who used a toaster as a shield. But here she was, wet and hot, and there _he_ was, hips fluctuating, erection being pumped closer to release by his own hastened grasp.

It was all happening so fast: her gun dropping to the floor, Nora sinking against the wall and wrenching her suit around her ankles, a third finger joining the first two to stimulate herself. She bucked against the heel of her hand, writhing on the floor. Her hand was covered in her own juices as she glided her own soaking heat over her clit. It felt divine! A lush moan escaped her, hands and legs beginning to tremble as she climbed that mountain of pleasure faster than she ever had before.

She imagined what noises he would make if his hand was replaced by hers, or how he would respond upon having the heat of her pussy clench around his cock. That’s all she could think about: fucking him, feeling his length fill her insides. Is that why he was touching himself? Was he thinking about Nora? She just _had_ to get another look, shakily grabbing her gun with her off-hand and sneaking in another peek through the scope. 

The Railroad agent was leaned far back in his chair, hips rolling while he pumped himself to ecstasy. A line of sweat had formed across his brow. His eyes, the color of gumetal, snapped shut suddenly as a stream of cum rocketed from his cock onto the floor. 

“Fuck...” whispered Nora, grinding the heel of her hand against her clit. Her fingers were still filling her cunt, rubbing her own, glistening walls. Each time the heel of her hand touched her she bucked her hips, imagining herself mounting and humping Deacon. Watching him climax through her scope was making her hot as sin and her mind continued to wander accordingly. Would he enjoy cumming with her? What sorts of things would he do to her? What would _he_ want _her_ to do to _him?_ Suck his cock? She could do that, eagerly so. Fuck him until he cried out her name? “Oh God yes, I want to fuck you so bad Deacon…” she moaned. 

Soon she was gasping, then whining, whining softly as her sex oozed down her thighs. She sank back down to the ground, plunging her fingers into her mouth and sucking her own mess up. Would he like to see that? Would it turn him on? “Yeah, you fucking like that, don’t you,” she whispered, filling herself back up with her fingers and moaning out loud. Nora was back to fucking her own hand. “Oh…” she mewled, closing her eyes and visualizing Deacon’s release, what it might feel like if all that cum ended up inside of her instead of on the floor. She basked in its imaginary warmth. “Yeah! I love making you cum!” she panted, grinding harder and harder against herself. Waves of pleasure wracked her body, spreading from her crotch throughout her thighs and belly and chest. She couldn’t have stopped the waves from tearing through her even if she tried. 

She whined again, realizing there was no stopping it. “You’re gonna make me cum! Oh fuck…oh fuck…ohhh fucckkkk Deacon!” 

Nora came undone, whimpering loudly as her own contracted in tight, gripping pulses around her fingers. Her vision turned to white momentarily as her orgasm ripped through her. Dirty, disjointed pleas filled the air. “Oh fuck! Yes! Make me pregnant! Oh god my fucking pussy! Ah! Ahhh…” And finally, she was able to breathe.

She curled up on the ground, massaging her sex as her creamy orgasm dripped from her thighs onto the ground. She was limp. Spent. That was the best orgasm she’d had in weeks, months maybe. She rubbed herself for a moment longer as she regained composure, sucking the cum from her fingers after. 

“Uh…boss?”

Nora whipped around. It sounded like Deacon’s voice was right there in the room. She expected him to be standing in the doorway, but alas, she was alone. It must have been her imagination. She shook her head and decided, _Eh, it’s noth-_

“Hellooo-ooo? Earth to Charmer?”

She looked around again, but still, no Deacon. That’s when she heard it: static.

Her stomach twisted into a horrendous knot before melting into a pool of lava. When she pulled her suit down, her belt got twisted and she ended up sitting on her walky-talkie…right on the talk button. Nora opened her mouth to explain herself, but what could she possibly say to EVER justify this?! _I’m sorry_ didn’t exactly cut it, and neither did _Well Deeks I’m just gonna go jump off the top of the building, ciao!_ There was no coming back from this. THERE. WAS. NO. COMING. BACK. FROM. THIS. 

EVERRRR.

“Nora?”

“...Y-yeah? Yeah Deacon?” Her face was so hot that she expected her own skin to melt right off her skull. It would be a preferable alternative to ever facing Deacon again, anyway.

“Hey, were you trying to contact me?” he asked. “I was tuned to the wrong station, sorry about that.”

She sighed. Nora knew damn well he was lying. She knew that he heard every last bit of that awful, awful smut session. She knew that she had never been, nor would she ever be, more embarrassed than she was in that moment. “Uh, yeah.” She played along, unable to think of another solution. “Honest mistake. I got the stims. I’m coming right now.” _I'm coming right now? THAT'S what just came out of my mouth?! WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!_ Nora sank down to the floor and buried her face in her hands. “Just give me a minute, Deeks.”

“Sure, no problem Buddy,” he answered. 

Nora turned off her radio entirely and stared up at the misaligned tiles in the ceiling with her pants around her ankles, wallowing in a puddle of her own cum and regret.


	2. Grograck the Boobarian and Nora's Jungle of Bat Babies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ask and you shall receive! Here's Chapter 2. I think quarantine is making me a teensy bit insane.

Nora shivered, scooting closer to the burn barrel. She and Deacon had found a cozy little apartment outside of the Commons. Their fifth-story room was open-air thanks to the bombs. There may only have been half a ceiling left, but at least the dividing wall lent a little privacy to the bedroom and bathroom…well, at least the old mattress and the broken toilet. For now though, she and Deacon sat on the washed-out carpet, mildewy literature strewn about the floor.

Deacon took a drink of his Gwinett, sunglasses and pompadour wig tossed unceremoniously aside. Nora watched him. He exhaled and scratched his bald head, idly picking up the closest piece of literature he found on the floor and turning it over in his hand with an intrigued _hm._

Things had been oddly normal between them. In fact, Nora was actually starting to think that Deacon really was tuned into a different channel earlier. He hadn’t mentioned anything at all. He was his usual self, singing showtunes and making snarky comments as they carried themselves across the wasteland. 

“Alright,” said Deacon, snapping Nora out of her trance. She blinked those big, blue eyes of hers and brushed back a few blonde curls. It’d been sprinkling on and off all day, and her hair was a bit more limp than she bargained for. 

“Alright what?” she smirked.

“What do you call a fly with no wings?”

They had been sitting in comfortable silence for quite some time, and Deacon’s abrupt joke was jarring. Not too jarring though, for Nora was quick on her feet. “A ‘walk,’” she answered. “Easy.”

“Not bad, but how ‘bout a fly with no wings AND no legs?”

“A ‘roll.’ Come on Deeks, gotta up your game.”

“Ya see? This is why I told Dez to give you a chance.”

Nora tittered, brushing back another strand of loose curls. She was tired. Her mascara was a tad runny, those red lips of hers faded and chapped. She knew this because she caught a glimpse of herself in a broken mirror on one of the only standing walls across the room. Nora frowned. She _never_ let people see her without perfect makeup…but God she was exhausted. In order to distract herself, she forced a smile and said, “Okay: what do you call a fly with no wings, _plus_ a fly with no wings and no legs on Diamond City Radio?”

Deacon narrowed his steely eyes, repeating the question. “What do I call a fly with no wings…”

“Mhmm.”

“…and a fly with no wings and no legs…”

“Mhhhmmm…”

“…on Diamond City Radio???”

“Yep.”

Deacon was quiet. The seconds dragged. The light rain from earlier once again began pattering on the broken roof above their heads, the smell of earth and wet asphalt lingering in the autumn air. “Ugh…it’s ‘walk and roll,’ isn’t it?” A pair of finger-guns and a cheeky grin from Nora was the only answer he needed. “Alright, I admit it, you’re pretty good at making up jokes… _on the fly._ ”

“Ha!” she exclaimed, and pulled a flask from her bosom just as suddenly as Deacon had started cracking jokes.

“Wait, you just keep that there?”

Nora unscrewed the lid and shrugged. 

“Keep anything else in there? Maybe an issue of _Grognak the Barbarian?_ ”

“Grognak the Boobarian.”

“Grograck.”

“Grograck the Boobarian,” they chanted in unison before laughing the most disappointed laughs of their entire lives. They spent a while drinking and idly chatting, joking about how it was ridiculous that a pair of middle-schoolers like themselves were handed the keys to the Minutemen and Railroad, respectively. 

Eventually the rain and the wind picked up, and the duo moved out of the open and under the roof. Deacon hung back drinking out of Nora’s ‘nip-flask’ while the blonde finally cracked and went to fix her makeup. She took her time, drawing on those perfect wings, painting her lips Nuka Cherry Red, fluttering her eyelashes against the mascara br-

“Hey.”

“Jesus!” The brush clattered to the ground. Nora whipped around to face Deacon and hissed, “You’re like six-feet tall! Shouldn’t you make more noise when you walk?!”

“That’s because I’m a gen-4 synth. This may not be common knowledge, but the Institute’s been working on gen-4s for a while now. We’re faster, stronger, and wayyy better looking that all the other synths. Plus, we’re great at Parcheesi.”

“Uh huh.” She snatched the flask from him, unscrewing the lid again and taking a long drink. She handed it back to Deacon who snickered and made for the mattress in the cramped room - - the only room with four, functioning walls. Nora collected her makeup brush and packed her things away before getting into her pajamas in the living area. Her pajamas may have been whatever pair of underwear and tank top she was wearing under the vault suit, but she was never one for flannel. 

“Oh. Hello. You have no pants.”

“No, I do,” explained Nora, flopping onto the mattress next to Deacon. “I’m just not wearing them. Now stop staring and tell me what you’re reading.” Before he could answer, Nora laughed. “Proust? _Again?_ Deacon, open yourself up a little, explore something less…less…Prousty!” 

“Okay, Charmer, first off,” he folded the edge of a page and closed the book, “you’re drunk.” 

“Says the guy reading Proust.”

Deacon laughed and took another drink from the flask. She could hear the liquid sloshing around at the bottom, getting emptier and emptier. Deacon drank for a long time, so long that Nora’s smile was replaced with an expression of concern. The firelight from the burn barrel flickered in the doorless frame, shimmering off of the metal container as he brought it back to rest.

“Deacon? What’s wrong?”

“Look…” he began, passing off the bottle quickly, almost like he was afraid he’d be tempted to drink more if he kept holding onto it. “…you and me? We’re golden. But…”

“Buttt…” she repeated. “Come on, don’t trail off like that. It’s dramatic. Pretty contrived, actually.” She tilted the flask back, finishing off the contents inside. She could taste cigarettes on the rim; Deacon’s, not hers.

A wry chuckle. “Ha, yeah…”

Nora wiped her lips, screwed the lid back on and tossed the flask aside. “You’re doing it again. Just tell me what’s going on, Deacon. Please?” She made sure that when she asked _please_ her eyelashes fluttered, lips pouting. As he considered her she looked him over, wondering if he was feeling chilly in that white, button-up shirt of his. She reached out and touched the collar of his shirt, rolling it between her fingers.

Deacon watched her, finally answering as he did. “I just wonder, you know…when’s it gonna end?”

“What is what going to end, Deacon?” She looked at his collar, then up at his handsome, shimmering eyes. Hoo boy, she _was_ getting a little tipsy, wasn’t she? 

“You. You, finally telling me off. How many lies do I have to tell before you decide enough is enough and just leave?”

“Two million seven thousand six hundred and-”

“Come on Nora,” he pleaded, scooping up her wrist in his hand. He _never_ called her by her first name, and he never _EVER_ touched her. But now he was begging her to simply listen, bringing her hand down and clasping it inside of his opposite one, each of his hands holding hers like she was his pearl and Deacon an oyster. Or a clam. Fuck she was drunk. “Seriously. I don’t have a great track record when it comes to people staying in my life. They just sorta pass by. In and out. Like…like two cars going in opposite directions on the freeway.” He held her hand tighter, Nora’s insides practically turning inside out. “But you didn’t just slow down for me. You parked here. You parked your car right here even though this neighborhood is shitty, with like, gun violence and…I dunno…litter.”

“Litter, huh?” She raised an eyebrow, easing her weight toward Deacon. “You’re the litter in this farfetched, auto-inspired analogy?”

“I am alllllll the litter.”

“What kind of litter would you be?”

“Is this one of those questions you ask kindergarteners? _Okay kids, if you were any type of roadside garbage, which kind would you be and why?_ ”

“Psht. Styrofoam, obviously.”

“Why Styrofoam?”

“Because I’m useful as shit but you can never get rid of me. Your turn. What kind of litter would-”

“Maggoty Blamco Mac and Cheese.”

“Oh ew, not okay. Why on God’s green earth do you think you’re ANYTHING like Baggoty Mambco…I mean maggoty blanchco…oh my God just answer the question, I’m drunk.”

“Because I’m just _disgusting,_ okay? I lie to everyone, and to you, and it’s disgusting. I make myself sick, Nora.” Deacon reached for the flask.

“My dude, there is NOTHING in this flask anymore! You drank it! And even if you didn’t you are definitely grounded.”

“Aw, why?”

“Because after all the time we’ve spent together it kills me to hear you talk about yourself like that, Deacon. Seriously? How can you say such terrible things about yourself?”

“How can _YOU_ not be fed up with me, huh? You can't seriously be okay with how much I lie to you. I know I'm probably not the best person to take advice from right now, but that's like, a textbook toxic relationship right there.”

Now it was Nora’s turn to place her hand over Deacon’s. She stroked the back of his hand lovingly with her thumb. “You want the truth?”

Deacon nodded. “Maybe you can show me what telling the truth is like.”

“Okay. Well, the truth is like this: when I first met you I didn’t know what to think. On one hand, yeah, you lied about everything. On the other hand, you told me upfront that you were a dirty rotten liar. From there on out, most of your lies were obviously poor attempts to seek attention because the reality is that you’re a terrible liar. I mean don’t get me wrong, you’re great at bullshitting yourself. That’s exactly what you’re doing right now, by the way, by telling yourself you’re like maggoty mac’n’cheese. But you are _terrible_ at lying to other people. Remember your ‘recall code’ scheme?”

“Yyeahhh?”

“And remember how I read the recall code right back to you even though you told me only to use it if I wanted to risk you exploding or whatever?”

“I said it would wipe my memories, ruin my-”

“Jesus, that’s what I’m talking about! _TERRIBLE_ liar!” Deacon chuckled, one of his thumbs now mimicking Nora’s, caressing the edge of her palm. “All of your little embellishments? Totally inconsequential to the grand scheme of things. Meanwhile, you’ve spent every waking and sleeping second by my side. You were there when Oberland was getting attacked by supermutants. You were the one who jumped into the firefight because that suicider was running right toward the farm. You’re the one who helped me get the Abernathy’s locket back from that place…the place with the…the round thingies.”

“Satellite dishes?”

“Yeah! And I may be starting to get a little bit shmammered but I’m serious Deacon. You’re a good guy, with good morals. Who cares what bullshit comes out of your mouth? You’re all walk and no talk, and that’s rare.” Nora slipped her hand out from between Deacon’s and started prodding his chest. “I’d be dead without you. Literally dead. How many times have I been injured only for you to pull me out of a ditch and stim me up?” She gasped, now clutching the collar of his shirt. “Remember the deathclaw?!”

“Yeah, I remember,” said Deacon, his voice low. He calmly took Nora’s hands back into his. She released him, and the Railroad agent held her hands in his lap. “I thought you weren’t gonna make it back from that one…”

“You can’t get rid of me. I’m Styrofoam bitch.”

Deacon seldom fell into one of his “solemn” moods, and Nora felt a little bad that she’d made him laugh again. He was obviously trying to open up to her, and she couldn’t stop saying drunk-people things. 

“Look. Your past is yours, Deacon. If you have to lie to stay sane out here, that’s fine. But trusting you? That’s easy. Your actions speak _only_ the truth.” She gazed into his eyes, a pretty, pink flush on her porcelain cheeks. “I’m glad I parked my car here, Deacon.”

Deacon gave a genuine if world-weary smile and asked, “Even with all the litter?”

“Especially with all the litter. Last time I poked through random litter I found seventeen caps and a Giddyup Buttercup head. But seriously…you alright Deeks?”

The bald man released the wind from his lungs. It was a sigh that had been brewing for months. Years, maybe. His shoulders visibly un-tensed. He collected his hands and brought them to rest on his legs. “Yeah Buddy. Thanks for hearing me out. I actually feel a lot better.”

A few minutes of silence passed between them though it was far from awkward. It was their typical sitting-around-doing-nothing-for-a-change silence. Something peaceful and mutual. Nora basked in it, humming a soft tune as Deacon resumed reading.

Eventually Deacon spotted something from the corner of his eye. He plucked the radio from the rubble and miraculously, it worked. Now the duo sat face to face on the mattress listening to Magnolia’s dulcet voice as the rain fell over the Boston rooftops. 

“Hot,” said Deacon. “I mean come on.”

“Well we know she does the boys a favor…but what about little ol’ me?” asked Nora, batting her lashes.

“You mean with all her manual labor?”

Nora nodded.

“Oh yeah,” answered Deacon. “She would _definitely_ let you into her Old State House.”

“Her ‘Old State House?’ Whatthefuck?”

Deacon raised his hands in self-defense. “Okay, that came out wrong.”

“Jeez, yeah it did. Okay, my turn!” she exclaimed. It was a wonder neither of them hadn’t drawn the attention of every raider in a five mile radius what with how boisterous their game of Hot or Not was. “Preston Garvey. Hot…or not?”

“Uhhhhh, he’s not really my ‘type,’ if you feel me.”

“Men?”

“Cartographers. If I asked him out on a date he’d wanna mark the location on my map, and that just doesn’t do it for me.”

Nora cackled and clapped her hands together. “Okay okay okay, your turn.”

“Alright. Mama Murphy.”

“Oh man, Mama Murphy…mmm-MMM! You know I love me some Mama.”

“I thought you might. She definitely seems like your type.” 

“See, I wasn’t sure if I told you about my geriatric psychic fetish but-”

“Were you masturbating to me earlier?”

“-I…well…I…uh…oh.” Nora’s eyes widened. She felt like she was on a roller-coaster suddenly, in part from the booze but mostly due to the way this conversation went from 0 to 100. Now, her stomach was in her throat and her asshole at the same time. There went her hope that he actually hadn’t heard her after all. In a moment of panic, she shrieked, “WHY WOULD YOU BRING THAT UP?!” 

“Uhhh…just wondering if I’m hot or not?” He offered a nervous laugh and silly grin to match.

“Well you should be asking if you wanna get SHOT or not!” cried Nora, leaning forward to punch him in the leg. She missed entirely, punching the mattress. It didn’t hurt but she said “ow” anyway because she was just that drunk. “Wait…what about me?”

“Hot,” replied Deacon.

Nora's eyes lit up.

“Look...” said Deacon, rising to his feet now. He swayed a little. “Honestly, I'm not big on touchy-feely romance. Not since...”

“Barbara,” interrupted Nora. Then she looked away, ashamed for even saying her name. She knew Deacon didn’t like talking about her, assuming she was even real. Whether she was or not, her essence was obviously the manifestation of some past pain he’d gone through…and Nora had a feeling that even if her name really wasn’t Barbara, Deacon did lose somebody.

“No, you're right,” said Deacon as he paced. “I mean, it’s not like I haven’t _done_ things with women since Barbara, it just…I never really thought about you like that. You're my buddy.”

Nora grimaced and sunk her head into her knees. “Buddy…” she repeated. “Cool.” 

Deacon obviously realized his mistake immediately. “No no wait, that came out wrong. Charmer you're...well, a charmer. A total knockout. You've got the whole rockabilly thing going on with your blue vault suit and your red lips and that thing you do with your hair that takes an hour every morning and then we’re late for stuff but it’s okay becauseyourhairlooksniceand-”

“Deacon…” she groaned, rising to her feet. The room was spinning. All she wanted to do was leave.

“And then you have this gatling laser that blows enemies’ faces off, and all that hot, sexy, pent-up blood rage that-”

“Stopppppp.” Rather than collecting her things and going for a walk to sober up as intended, Nora wobbled and fell back-first into the apartment wall.

“Easy,” said Deacon, who reached out to steady her. But he tripped too, catching himself by shoving his palm flat against the wall near her head. He placed his opposite hand on his hip to make it look like he was casually leaning. “Heyyy, how's it goin'?” he said coolly, like he'd done the whole thing on purpose.

Nora cracked a small smile. “Deacon? I’m sorry for being a creep earlier.”

Much, much to her surprise, he asked, “Is it bad that I'm actually flattered?”

“Well…it isn't hard to flatter you.”

“True!” he agreed. “But in this case...”

“In this case it _was_ hard...” The vault-dweller looked him dead in the eyes.

Deacon's lips twitched into a small smile. “I see what you did there,” he said in a low voice. He then leaned in slowly, hand still pressed into the wall beside her. Nora's lips parted and she leaned forward...only for Deacon to bump foreheads with her. “Ah, shit…yup. Still drunk.”

“So kiss me you lying, booze-addled fiend,” she demanded, taking the initiative herself. A pair of ruby lips interlocked with Deacon’s.

_You’re going to push me away,_ she thought. _And that’s okay. You’re damaged. I’m damaged. We’re so fucked up Deacon. So fucked up…_

Just as Nora went to pull back, right when she thought he wasn't going to reciprocate, Deacon doubled down on the kiss, melting into her, trapping her between himself and the wall. Nora let out a breathless sigh and closed her eyes, pressing her soft palms against his chest.

They kissed in the safety of the rain for a time, gentle, sultry moans and sighs leaving them with each shift of their hips, each caress of their hands. Their eyes closed and they allowed their tongues to dance, the warmth of their kiss providing succor in the cold, Boston air. Deacon claimed her jaw with his hand and Nora selfishly groping his crotch. She needed to feel him, unable to get the images of Deacon and his perfect cock out of her mind. 

The agent grinded his hips against her, a hard tent in his pants. Nora palmed him enthusiastically, breaking the kiss only to moan and spread her legs, rubbing her underwear against Deacon’s thigh. 

“Damn…” he marveled, Nora needily stroking him and grinding down on him. She was already wet; had been all day in fact, but now she was building herself up faster than she thought possible. She knew right then and there that she wanted to cum. Not only that, but she wanted to make Deacon cum, too. If she kept this up, things were going to end prematurely. “Bed,” she breathed.

Before he could say yes, Nora grabbed him by the waist and walked him backward. Her fingers sloppily fumbled with the button of his pants. He held her shoulders for balance and pleasure in equal measure. The button snapped open. Deacon ran his hands through her hair and pulled her in for another close kiss. This lasted only seconds before Nora moaned and pulled him down onto the mattress.

She landed on top of Deacon, who struggled to free himself from his pants. As soon as he'd gotten them past his hips, Nora eased herself into his lap. Pants be damned, she couldn’t wait a second longer. They could hang around his thighs for all she cared, she just needed his dick and she needed it yesterday! 

Deacon sat up and groped her waist as Nora rocked her hips, once again rubbing her clothed pussy against his cock. “You feel so good,” she whimpered. He was hard. He was ready. He was ready and it was all her fault, and that turned her on more than anything else in the world. “I need you to fuck me Deacon,” she moaned, squirming as she practically tore her panties off of her legs. Deacon tried to help as best he could but she was insatiable, kicking her legs of only to save herself waiting one measly second. 

“I…I don’t know what to say…” slurred Deacon, half clutching her breast while petting her hair as she writhed. 

Nora mounted him again and began rubbing her dripping pussy against his erection. “Say you want to be inside of me….”

_“Ah…”_ he groaned, his cock jumping as she teased it with her warm slit. “I do. I really really do…” He brought his hands to her hips and caressed her, feeling every shape and curve her body had to offer. His hands then traced along her stomach, over her tight, white tank top. They glided upward, cupping her comely breasts. He used his thumbs to tease her nipples through the fabric and Nora whimpered and bit her lip, closing her eyes, rubbing against him more fervently.

“I love when you touch my titties…”

“Nora?”

“Hmmm?” she kissed his neck, groaning as her entrance slid across the head of his dick.

“Ah God…okay…look…you be Grograck the Boobarian and I’ll be-”

_Seriously?!_ she thought. _We’re gonna make jokes now? Oh, I get it. You’re doing that thing you always do when you’re too nervous to face reality where you crack jokes instead. You think that’s gonna turn me off buddy? Well think again._

“No. YOU be Grograck!” she moaned. “Oh fuck! Yeah!” She lifted her hips and clutched Deacon’s cock, slowly sinking around it. “That’s right! Let me sheathe your pulsating axe you strong, muscled jungle bitch!”

Nora couldn’t believe it earlier when Deacon confessed that he was alright with Nora spying on him and masturbating to the sight of him. But she was somehow more surprised when Deacon groaned and thrust his hips and said, “Oh fuck…I love when you sheathe my axe like that!”

Not a second after, Deacon plunged his tongue against her clothed nipple, sucking and gnawing as he held her waist, moving his hips in tandem with hers. Every thrust elicited another moan and plea from the vault-dweller. “Oh fuck baby harder!” or “It feels so good, mmm!”

God he was thick! Thick and filling her with every last inch! It’s what she always wanted! Well at least since this morning. “Shit,” replied Deacon breathlessly. She could hardly believe her ears. Not only was Deacon acting _very_ not-private, he was loud. Verbal. Panting and groaning and fucking her stupid.

She was so drunk that she didn’t even remember him knocking her onto her back, but there he was, drilling her from on top. The world was a fish bowl, and her head was floating in water, drunk and rippling as she tried to comprehend anything other than the imminent, building pleasure in her soaking loins. 

“I’m seriously so fucking wet,” she whined, her hands pressed against the back of his bald head.

“Yeah? Do I make you wet?” growled Deacon, slamming into her.

“Yes Grograck! Ahhh fuck I want you to cum in my bat baby jungle!”

“Yeah you do you filthy whore!” Deacon slapped her pussy and rubbed his fingers against her sensitive clit, eliciting a long, guttural groan from Nora that she couldn’t stop. 

“OOOUUUAAGHHHHH YEAH RIGHT THERE! MAKE ME PREGNANT!”

“I’m gonna make you have so many bat babies Grograck…ngh fuck!” Deacon continued pumping himself into her.

“N-no, you’re Grogr-rack, rememb- OHHHHHHH FUCK!”

“Oh shit…!” he groaned, scooping her thighs up and curling himself at the waist. Deacon doubled over and grunted, freezing and shaking in place. 

Warmth exploded inside of her. It gushed. It spilled. It flooded her. Nora licked her lips and quickly pressed Deacon’s fingers against her sex. He followed suit and began massaging her as he came, and not three seconds later did she join him, literally screaming into the night as a flurry of squirt erupted around the agent’s dick.

“I love you!” she whimpered!

“I fucking love you so much Carla!”

“…” 

Nora obviously stopped cumming. In fact, she was pretty sure the entire world stopped, came to a screeching halt more like it. “Deacon. Who. The fuck. Is Carla?”


End file.
